


date night

by Greenflares



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenflares/pseuds/Greenflares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't go on dates. Well, not the kind of dates that you'd find in a romance novel, or anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	date night

**Author's Note:**

> I was deeply moved by [this post](http://greenflares.tumblr.com/post/64576981628/nightofthelivingdeadpoetssociety-order-a) and then this happened.

The first time Jean had tried to take Eren out on a date he’d invited him to a movie and a restaurant, an act suggested by Marco and his extensive knowledge of 90s rom-coms. The movie had been awful, complete with crying babies in the audience and a 7 foot tall giant sitting in front of them, and then their dinner had left them with food poisoning. All things considered, Jean didn’t think they’d overreacted in the slightest when they’d ruled any future dates out as a definite _NO_.

So that was how Saturday night became their date night – or, more aptly, ‘takeout and a movie’ night.

“You own some fucking atrocious movies,” Jean said, skimming through Eren’s shelf of DVDs with growing concern. “Why do you have so many yoga DVDs? Who even needs this many?” He’d counted six so far, which was six too many.

Eren had his phone to his ear as he paced the living room, waiting to be taken off hold. “Mikasa gave them to me last Christmas,” he answered with a slight sigh. “She thinks yoga’s good for my anger issues.” He rubbed at his temples with his free hand and let out a gust of breath, a sound of frustration if Jean had ever heard one. “Fucking hell, their waiting music is shit.”

“Can’t be any shittier than your movie collection,” Jean reasoned.

“If I have to listen to Livin’ On A Prayer one more time this evening, I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” Eren growled, making another lap of the living room, his bare feet stomping against the pale carpet.

Jean turned to him with narrowed eyes. “Livin’ On A Prayer is a classic, you uncultured fuck.”

Eren was only halfway through his returning insult (“You don’t know fuck-all about music, you fucktard—”) when his call was connected to a real person and he stammered until he could manage proper speech. “Sorry,” he croaked, covering his other ear to block out the sound of Jean snickering, “hi, I’d like to order a pizza to be delivered, please…”

Jean turned back to the movies, a smirk still playing at his lips, and continued his search for something to watch. They’d watched Grease last week, and Die Hard the week before that, and despite Eren’s persistence and occasional sexual-blackmail, Jean wasn’t about to agree to a Lord of the Rings marathon any time soon. That shit was _long_.

He found a familiar title and pulled it out from amongst the others, reading the back of the case and checking for the disc before he turned it towards Eren. “The Wicker Man?” he mouthed, eyebrows raised mockingly. “ _Really?”_

Eren was still ordering takeout, but shrugged back at him with a stubborn expression. He could shrug all he liked, but there was no changing the fact that Jean knew he was a secret Nic Cage fan. His special edition copy of Con Air was testament to that.

The Wicker Man was as good a choice as any, so he put it into the DVD player and got the system set up. As he jabbed at the buttons on the remote he wondered just when he’d become as familiar with Eren’s entertainment system as he was with his own. Somehow, without him noticing it, he’d become horribly comfortable in Eren’s little apartment. He’d learnt how to work the temperamental dishwasher, and he’d fully mastered the air conditioner settings, which was a fucking feat in itself. Sometimes it felt as though he lived there, as though it wasn’t just Eren’s apartment, as though it was theirs – but that was a dangerous thought and Jean refused to acknowledge it, not when there was a shitty film on the TV and a pizza on the way.

Jean was on the couch, feet already kicked up on the coffee table and the DVD menu playing repeatedly on screen, when Eren finished the call and joined him. He kicked his legs out along the couch, resting his feet in Jean’s lap. He wriggled his toes teasingly and grinned at him, daring him to knock him off, to try to fight him on the decision.

“Fuck you,” Jean said, although he placed his hand on Eren’s foot and absently rubbed his thumb against the skin of his ankle. It wasn’t so bad.

“We have the best date nights, I swear to fuck,” Eren muttered as the movie started, and Jean smiled to himself, comforted by the knowledge that Eren enjoyed their time together as much as he did – which, yeah, okay, Jean was getting really lame in his old age.

In all honesty, Jean paid more attention to Eren than he did to the film. It was hard not to, really, what with the way Eren was so close and warm, and how everything he did seemed to draw Jean’s eyes to him. He watched the way Eren’s eyes crinkled softly at the corners when he laughed, and how he always showed so much teeth when his laughter was uncontrollable and sudden. He watched how Eren would mouth along to the parts that he knew by heart, even mimicking the right facial expressions, and how he sat up a little straighter during what Jean supposed were the suspenseful scenes. It didn’t take long for him to lose track of the plot because of just how absorbed he was in Eren. It wasn’t his fault, really. It was Eren’s.

Sometimes – like now – he wanted to grab himself by his shoulders and rattle his bones until everything made sense again, until Eren no longer had claim on him. He was being ridiculous and he knew it. He was too far gone, too lost in the stupid idiot boy, and yet he couldn’t stop himself – couldn’t keep himself from watching him, from touching him, from liking him so god damn much.

The doorbell rang, sharp and piercing, and Eren sighed and got up to get it, swearing as he went. “Pause it for me,” Eren called back as he dashed to the door, and Jean obeyed. Eren was the only one paying attention, anyway.

He returned after a short moment, a pizza box in hand. He sat the box on the coffee table and opened it, and for a moment all Jean could do was blink at the food in front of him, astonished. It was a single large pizza, but half was a plain cheese topping, whereas the other half was Hawaiian. Cheese for Jean, Hawaiian for Eren. Eren had thought of him.

“I know you like cheese pizza best,” Eren said by way of explanation, shrugging as though it was nothing, as though there was no reason for Jean’s lungs to feel as though they were full of sparks.

Fuck, Jean was getting emotional about _pizzas_ now.

They sat back against the couch, their feet both propped up on the coffee table as they ate the pizza, crumbs falling down their collars, scratching at their skin, and falling into the cracks of the upholstery. Jean watched as cheese stringed from Eren’s lips to his slice of pizza, and his eyes lingered upon the single smear of tomato paste on his chin, dark red like a splash of blood.

“Fuck,” Jean sighed, smirking, “you’re a real beauty, y’know?”

Eren grinned at him with pizza stuck in between all of his teeth. “Thanks, babe,” he said, his smile so dumb and playful that it hit Jean in the chest like a punch, like a physical blow.

The thought came to Jean instantly –

_Fuck. I could love this idiot._

It was insane, really, just how well they worked when they were together. Despite the swearing and the arguing and their overall competitive natures that really ought to have meant they were incompatible, they had chemistry. They worked. They worked so well, in fact, that Jean was pretty fucking sure he’d fallen for the asshole.

Their friends didn’t understand it, Jean knew. Mikasa had never said anything, not to Jean at least, but he could tell from the way she looked at them when they were together that she didn’t approve. There was always something about the set of her mouth, the crease in her brow. But then again, Jean didn’t think Mikasa would ever be happy with whoever it was that Eren was with. Mikasa wanted the best for him, only the best, and Jean knew what that felt like.

Marco thought they were too aggressive for one another, what with the way Jean could never shut his mouth, couldn’t hold his tongue to save his life, and the way Eren would flare up at any provocation and was always jumping into things head-first, consequences be damned.

“I’ll be surprised if you don’t kill each other somehow,” Marco had said when Jean had told him about them, and Jean had laughed, brushed it off, and had worried about it later when he was supposed to be long asleep.

And yes, sure, they were both a handful, Jean could admit it. Jean was too outspoken for his own good, Eren was too impulsive for _anyone’s_ good, and they ought to have destroyed each other, but instead they just – they worked. Jean could call Eren an asshole in one breath and kiss him the next, and that was how it was with them.

It was stupid, yeah, but sometimes Jean allowed himself to entertain the ridiculous idea that maybe they were perfect for each other.

They finished the pizza before Jean could even realise it, and then all that remained was the greasy box and a few lone crusts. Eren let out a satisfied sigh, sweet and soft, and Jean eased his arm around his shoulders until he could curl his fingers through the fine hair at the back of his head. Eren leaned against him and sighed again, quieter this time, as though all the worries in the world had suddenly disappeared. Jean liked that he could do that to Eren, that his touch could soothe him so thoroughly. He wondered what Marco and Mikasa would think if they could see them like this, how they were when they were alone together, comfortable and easy.

Eren yawned then, his jaw widening until it clicked and his eyes fluttering shut, and Jean knew for certain that he loved him.

“I fucking love this shitty film,” Eren said after a while, his voice soft and sleepy. Nic Cage was shouting at people on the screen, frantic and illogical.

“That’s because you have the worst taste in everything,” Jean consoled him, running his fingers through his hair.

Eren poked him in the side to make him gasp and jerk. “Hey,” he objected, “I like you, don’t I?”

Jean snorted, face warm. “I’m the exception to the rule,” he clarified. “Obviously.”

Eren glanced at him and his expression was soft and curious, as though even after all this time he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around Jean, couldn’t quite pin him down. “You’re the exception to all my rules, actually,” he admitted quietly, trying to sound offhand but failing.

Jean’s chest felt light and heavy all at once, as though it was expanding far too quickly and his ribs were about to bust. He felt as though he was full of some kind of bright light – as though his veins were running with it. Eren had infected him, he was sure of it.

Eren yawned again, shuddering with the movement. He rested against Jean again and this time he felt heavier, limper.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep during this shitty fucking film, you asshole,” Jean warned him, and Eren laughed into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his breath hot and reassuring.

“It’s almost finished,” Eren promised, running his hand against Jean’s thigh.

Jean curled his fingers through Eren’s hair again and let his fingers card through the dark strands. He dragged his nails gently over his scalp, thrilling in the way Eren reacted to his touch, the way he sighed and breathed heavily, how he leaned into the contact.

“You’re like a cat,” Jean murmured, scratching him a little.

“And you’re a fucking dick,” Eren returned. “Don’t you dare stop.”

The movie finished without Jean knowing anything about what had just happened, and he disentangled himself from Eren in order to get up to turn off the DVD player and the television. He put the disc back in the cover, knowing that if he didn’t do it then no one would. When he looked back at Eren he found his eyes on him. Eren’s expression was fond and warm and it made Jean’s face grow hot.

“Come on,” Eren urged, “I’m about to pass the fuck out.”

They wandered into Eren’s bedroom, shutting off lights as they went. Eren’s room was a mess, of course, with clothing piled everywhere and photographs pinned haphazardly all over the walls. He had an unstable tower of textbooks stacked by his bedside, no doubt heavily neglected. A photo of the two of them was stuck to his bedside lamp.

Eren pulled his shirt off and stepped out of his jeans, leaving him there in his boxer shorts and with his hair standing on all ends. He grabbed a nearby shirt and tugged it over his head before Jean could so much as admire his lean torso. Jean paused as was about to step out of his jeans and narrowed his eyes at Eren – and more specifically, at the shirt.

“You fucking fuck,” he breathed, “you’re wearing my fucking shirt as pyjamas?”

Eren paused to look down at his shirt before his face erupted with a grin. He was wearing the dark navy shirt that Jean had thought he’d lost a month earlier, the one that Jean had already replaced. “I like it,” Eren said, running his hand over his chest and down his stomach, a hint suggestive. He threw himself on to the bed, bouncing a little before the mattress settled.

Jean swallowed thickly and finished undressing. Sure, he’d lost his shirt, but as far as he was concerned, he wasn’t counting it as a loss. Not really.

He watched Eren with utter bemusement. “Tell me why I like you, again?” he asked.

Eren shrugged, a smirk playing at his lips. “Who else is going to watch Nic Cage movies with you?”

Jean accepted that with a little shrug of his own before he crawled into the bed with him. Eren wriggled closer to him, flushing their sides together, and Jean let out a soft breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Fucking spoon me already,” Jean grumbled, and Eren let out a snort of laughter before he shoved him on to his side and weaved an arm around his waist. His palm was hot against Jean’s stomach, his fingers drawing patterns into his skin.

“I love date night,” Eren breathed into his skin. “I love doing this lame shit with you.”

“Me too,” Jean agreed, his eyes closed. “Next week let’s get Thai food.”

Eren pressed a kiss near his ear and shivers ran down Jean’s spine. “Only if we can watch Con Air,” he murmured.

Jean smiled, soft and dumb. “I think I can deal with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> [flies into the sun]


End file.
